pull up (pull up) from one extreme to another
by SpecialAgentWho13
Summary: The FBI trained them to deal with a multitude of situations. As agents, they're supposed to be prepared for whatever the job throws at them. The BAU must have missed the class that taught them how to survive a plane crash.
1. Prologue

So this essentially takes place sometime after season nine in a universe where Emily Prentiss never left and the events of the finale didn't happen (i.e. everyone is relatively happy and uninjured). I have nothing against Blake and I like her but I suppose I just prefer the dynamics with Emily. Anyway, I am sorry I can't make any promises about regular updates because I'm terrible, but I will try. This has canon pairings only. The title comes from the song 'Into the Fire' by Thirteen Senses. Now, on with the story.

* * *

******"I'm not afraid of death; I just don't want to be there when it happens." **

******― Woody Allen**

The monotonous hum of the jet engines provides a soothing backdrop for the agents of the BAU as they fly home after another grueling case. Six days on the Northern Indiana/Ohio border spent mediating turf wars between law enforcement officers from both sides while trying desperately to stop a pedophilic cyber stalker turned kidnapping murderer. Erik Rogers took five victims under the age of thirteen before they managed to apprehend him as he went for his sixth. And if not for the added presence of Garcia and her quick computer work on the case, they might not have caught him in time.

The team had stayed just long enough to sort out the necessary paperwork and to accept the proclamations of gratitude from parents and LEOs alike and then they found themselves departing yet another tragic scene. Now the members of the Behavioral Analysis Unit are just looking forward to being able to enjoy a rare weekend free of work.

Hotch quietly observes his team from where he sits at the table by one of the windows. It's almost 4 a.m. so half of them are already asleep or nearly so. Reid and Garcia are the only ones still awake. They sit across from him, whispering excitedly over the tablet computer held between them, which casts a bluish glow across both eager faces. Emily is dozing with her chin in her hand, elbow propped on the armrest to his left, and he can hear the quiet snores of either Morgan or Rossi from the seats behind him. On the other side of the darkened plane, Hotch can just make out the petite form of JJ stretched across the couch, wrapped snugly in a blue fleece blanket.

They've only been in the air for about thirty minutes, so Hotch decides to use the remaining hour of the flight to try and catch up on some sleep. By the time he gets home, he knows he'll only get about two hours tops before Jack bounds into his room ready to start the day.

The team leader leans his head back against the tan leather seat and lets his eyes drift closed, focusing on the lulling drone of the jet in order to tune out the whispers of the two geniuses on the other side of the table.

He's only been sleeping for a few minutes when a jolt of turbulence startles him awake. Next to him, Emily's head slips off its perch from the sudden movement and she's roused from sleep, blinking rapidly for a moment before her tired gaze meets his.

"I just hate turbulence," Garcia whispers once the plane has settled. She punctuates the comment with a small shudder.

"It can be unsettling," Emily whispers back, nodding in agreement.

Soon after, another bout of turbulence shakes the jet, harder this time, and the four of them direct their gazes out the small windows. There isn't much to see in the darkness that shrouds the early morning, but they stare quietly anyway.

It only takes another five seconds for everything to go to hell.

The next jolting of the plane is accompanied by the horrendous screech of tearing metal. Penelope, Reid, Hotch, and Emily have only a fleeting moment to register the sight of the jet's right turbine hurtling away into the darkness before a deafening roar fills their ears as the plane lists to the left and begins plummeting towards the ground below.

Something blue sails past their seats as their world descends into chaos. Hotch can't determine if the screaming he hears is coming from the aircraft carrying them to their inevitable deaths or from one of his colleagues or both, but it is incredibly difficult to focus when he's being forcefully sandwiched between Prentiss and the wall. Somewhere behind him he hears Rossi shouting about brace positions and the distinctive click of a seatbelt and he tries hard to remember whether he buckled his own before they took off. But there's more screeching metal and terrified screams and roaring air rushing by at alarming speeds and he can barely hear his own thoughts over the mayhem, so he just hangs on tight and waits for impact – or death, whatever comes first.

His last thoughts are of his son's smiling face before the blackness consumes him with an almighty crash.

**"Do not be afraid; our fate**  
** Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift." **  
** ― Dante Alighieri, _Inferno_**

* * *

Thanks for reading! Reviews are greatly appreciated. I'll try my best to get the next chapter up within a week.

Oh, and if any you happen to be following any of my incomplete NCIS or Warehouse 13 fics, I seriously apologize but I don't know if I'll ever finish those, because I've just become disillusioned with NCIS after Ziva's departure and I was pretty underwhelmed with the way they handled the last season of Warehouse 13. But we'll see. There could still be hope if my muse someday gains some sudden inspiration.


	2. Chapter 1

This is the longest chapter I've written for anything. And I finished it a lot faster than I expected to. So here you go! Thank you to all the people who read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited. I greatly appreciate the support. I'm kind of experimenting with this writing style because I've only ever written in past tense in my previous endeavors. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

* * *

**"Fear doesn't shut you down; it wakes you up"**  
**― Veronica Roth, _Divergent_**

The rhythmic clanking of a slowly spinning jet turbine pierces the natural tranquility of the forest in which it rests. Somewhere, a scream echoes off the trees.

The noise drags Emily out of unconsciousness. She shakes off her disorientation as the world slowly comes back to her, muffled sounds becoming clearer to her ringing ears. The acrid scent of smoke fills her nostrils. It takes a moment for her to realize her eyes are still closed. When she opens them, blurred shapes begin to take focus in the muted light of early dawn and the situation comes rushing back to her.

Heavy turbulence. A plane crash. Her team was in a plane crash.

Emily tries to get up but something stops her, tugging at her waist, and she glances down to see she's still strapped to her seat. It's still upright, sunken into the soil of the forest floor. Blood drips into her eye when she looks down and she reaches up to wipe it away, finding a small gash just above her right eyebrow.

It takes a moment for her trembling fingers to get the seatbelt undone and when she finally frees herself, Emily tumbles forward onto the dirt and takes a couple deep breaths. She's vaguely aware of the fact that she needs to find her friends, but she's not sure she can even stand up right now, let alone go searching for other people.

Another terrified scream that sounds a lot like Garcia's eventually startles her into action. She lifts her head and sits up on her knees, wiping more blood out of her eyes so she can look around, but all she sees around her is smoke and destroyed fragments of the jet. Once she feels she's worked up the energy to stand, she heaves herself to her feet and calls out for her friend.

"Penelope?"

"Prentiss." But the responding voice isn't Garcia's. Emily turns quickly to her right and regrets it instantly as a wave of dizziness overcomes her. She leans forward with her hands braced on her knees and gives herself a minute to regain her bearings.

"Prentiss?" The person calls her name again and this time she registers that the voice belongs to Hotch. He's sprawled on his back just behind where her seat landed with his head raised, tilted in her direction as he calls out her name a third time.

"Hotch!" She finally stumbles over to him and drops to her knees at his side. "Hotch, are you all right? Can you sit up?"

Hotch takes a second to think, mentally assessing his wellbeing, and then nods, reaching out the arm that isn't currently throbbing. Emily helps him sit up as he grunts in pain and they both sit still for a moment afterwards to catch their breaths.

"Are you injured?" she asks.

Hotch looks down and catalogues his injuries. He can see some minor cuts and bruising through the tears in his tattered suit and the throbbing pain in his arm is still making itself known, but nothing appears to be immediately life threatening.

"No, just… I think my right shoulder is dislocated, that's all." The grimace that appears on Emily's face when she glances down at said shoulder only confirms his suspicions. "You?"

Emily nods silently for a second and then answers, "Fine." She stands again and then reaches for his uninjured arm to help him up. "Some cuts and a headache likely due to smoke inhalation. Nothing I can't handle."

"I heard screaming," Hotch replies.

Emily's eyes widen and she nods, turning around and heading in the direction she thought the screams had come from. "Garcia," she says. "I think it was Garcia."

Hotch follows after her and they move as fast as they can across the clearing created by the downed plane to the nearest pile of wreckage. The sound of whimpers and sniffles becomes audible as they approach.

"Penelope?" Emily calls softly, hoping not to startle her.

They round a battered sheet of metal to find Penelope pinned underneath from the waist down. Her glasses are remarkably still in place but one lens is streaked with blood and her dirt-smudged cheeks are streaked with tears. When her brown eyes flicker up to meet theirs, both profilers can easily see the terror in them.

"Guys?"

Emily forces a smile and crouches down next to Penelope, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hey, PG. It's us, Hotch and Prentiss. We're gonna get you out of there, okay?"

Penelope nods, smiling faintly. "Okay. I was scared to move," she tells them. "I don't feel seriously hurt, but that could be the shock, you know? Plus, this metal is pretty heavy, so I could use the help. Are you guys okay?"

"We're fine," Hotch assures her. "Let's get this off of you." He moves around to the side opposite Emily and they count to three before gripping the sheet of metal and pulling it back with everything they have. It's not easy, with Hotch down an arm and Emily once again blinking blood out of her eyes, but they finally manage to shove it away and it hits the forest floor with a hollow clang just as Penelope rolls out of the way.

"Thanks," she tells her panting colleagues, receiving tired nods in response. There's a lot of painful bruising on her limbs, her right wrist feels sprained, and she's pretty sure she has a concussion because her head is killing her, but for some reason she doesn't start crying again until she notices her torn plaid dress and then she can't seem to stop. "How could this happen?" she sniffs, reaching up automatically to wipe at her tears and giving a pained cry as the movement jostles her injured wrist.

Reid's answering voice startles all three of them. "Mechanical error is the second most likely cause of airplane crashes. Assuming our pilots didn't suddenly turn on us, or each other, that's probably what happened. I remember seeing the right turbine fly off just before we crashed."

They turn to see him propped against the broad trunk of a tree several feet away, chin resting against his chest as though he can barely stand to keep his head up.

Emily and Hotch rush towards him as Penelope struggles to stand. She has to remove her heels, because one is broken and she's not sure if she could walk in them anyway.

"Oh my God, Reid, are you all right?" Emily asks, squatting beside his slouched figure.

He finally lifts his head to make eye contact. "I have a concussion and I think my left leg is broken, the tibia or the fibula, probably both. Also, you probably shouldn't let me fall asleep for a while, just in case the concussion is worse than it seems."

His friends breathe a sigh of relief, glad to know he's not about to die on them anytime soon.

"I woke up not too long ago and dragged myself over to this tree when I heard voices," he gestures to the trio gathered around him. A moment later he seems to realize something and his brow furrows. "Have you found anyone else yet?"

Hotch shakes his head. "Not yet. Have you-"

"Hello?!" Morgan's shout echoes in the clearing and heads snap around, trying to locate the source. "Hey, I need some help over here! Anybody?"

Penelope's demeanor brightens. "Derek!"

Hotch and Emily glance at each other, then back to Reid and Garcia.

"We'll go," Hotch declares. "You two stay here, keep each other awake if you have to." He's glad to be able to take charge as he normally does. They need as many level heads as they can manage at the moment and he knows that the ability to maintain some semblance of the status quo as far as their dynamics go will really help in the long run.

He and Emily take off towards more of the wreckage as their younger teammates stare hopefully after them.

"Hey, Reid?" Penelope asks quietly once they've gone.

"Yeah, Garcia?"

"…What are the odds that some of us didn't survive that crash?"

There's a brief pause while Reid considers, then with as much confidence as he can muster, he answers, "Beatable."

* * *

When Hotch and Emily near what used to be the jet's cockpit, they start calling out for Morgan.

"Derek!"

"Morgan, where are you?"

"Emily? Hotch?" His voice comes from inside. "I'm in here, I need some help!"

They cautiously step inside the cockpit, careful not to trip on the damaged cabinetry and wiring. On her way to the doorway – which is really more like a hole now – Emily spots the large red bag containing the plane's requisite first aid supplies. She tugs it free of the debris and tosses it back outside the plane, reminding herself to grab it again on the way out.

Morgan is leaning over the body of one of the pilots when they find him. He's bruised and cut up just like the rest of them but it's the jagged strip of metal protruding from his thigh that catches their eye.

"Derek, your leg," Emily blurts.

Morgan waves off her concern. "I'll be fine for now, long as I leave it in there. I need you guys to help me get them out." He gestures to the pilots on either side of him.

"We can help, Morgan, but first I need you to pop my shoulder back into place," says Hotch. "Can you do that?"

Morgan turns to him and nods. "You too, huh?" At their confused glances he nods to the male pilot on his right and adds, "He was awake when I found him. I was gonna help him get his copilot out, but he passed out as soon as I popped his shoulder in." Stepping forward, he reaches out to grip Hotch's shoulder and bicep and glances up to meet his eyes. "Ready?"

Hotch nods and sucks in a steadying breath.

"Okay. On three. One, two, -"

There's a sickening pop and a cry of pain from Hotch and then Morgan's moving further back into the cockpit and starting to hoist the pilot out of his seat, giving his friend a second to regroup.

"Em, do you think you can carefully drag this guy out of here? The woman is stuck and I need to find a way to cut her outta the seat."

"Yeah, I can try. Here," she slips past Hotch and moves to take the pilot under the armpits so she can slide him backwards.

"Thanks," Morgan says. "Remember, lift with the legs," he jokes, and Emily actually manages a chuckle along with her eye roll, despite the gravity of the situation.

She keeps moving backwards as Hotch kicks a path clear behind her, and with a few more strenuous tugs, finally manages to drag the unconscious weight out of the plane and drop him gently on top of the dirt and leaves. With a heavy exhale, she slumps down to join him.

Inside the cockpit, Hotch returns to help Morgan yank at the restraints pinning the copilot to her seat.

"Who else have you found?" Morgan asks, using a shard of metal not unlike the one currently embedded in this thigh to saw at the seatbelt.

"Reid and Garcia are hurt, but I think they'll be okay. We left them to rest by a tree a few yards from here. You?"

"I left Rossi to search around while I helped these guys," Morgan answers, grunting in satisfaction when the belt finally tears free. He flings it to the side and lifts two fingers up to the smooth, dark skin of her neck to check her pulse, just in case. His hand is bleeding from using a scrap of metal as a makeshift knife but it's nothing serious. "We woke up side by side, still buckled into our seats."

"What condition was he in?"

Hotch and Morgan grab the legs and shoulders of the copilot and tentatively lift her as they begin shuffling out of the plane.

"Limping and concussed. He's got a nasty gash on one of his arms, but we tore some fabric from his shirt and I wrapped it up so it should hold for a while."

They groan simultaneously as they lower the woman to the ground next to Emily and the pilot. The former is sorting through the first aid kit she retrieved, glad to find everything still intact. She looks up when they emerge.

"How's the shoulder?"

"Better," Hotch replies. "I'm going to check back in the plane for food and water. If the first aid kit was still inside, there's a good chance the other supplies could have made it as well."

Minutes later, he emerges with his arms full, stark relief coloring his features. Two rolled up blankets, several bottles of water, and a value size box of granola bars tumble to the ground next to Emily and the first aid kit just as a low moan emits from the copilot.

A pained gasp follows the moan and Emily crawls over to her side, wishing she knew the woman's name.

"Hey, hey. You're okay," she soothes. "Can you hear me? What's your name?"

The woman blinks her eyes open and stares at the brightening sky for a second before responding. "Ch-Charlotte. Charlotte Smoak."

Emily smiles and lightly pats her shoulder. "Hey, Charlotte. My name is Emily Prentiss. I'm one of the FBI agents you were flying back to DC."

Charlotte licks her lips and winces. "I'm s-sorry."

Shaking her head, Emily tells her, "Hey, no, it wasn't your fault. Everyone's okay." It's a lie, and she knows it. She's not even sure if some of her friends are still alive, but unnecessarily panicking the woman is not going to help right now.

"Oliver?"

"What?"

"Oliver," Charlotte repeats. "The pilot, is he okay? His name is Oliver Green."

Emily glances over her shoulder at the unconscious man in question and then up to Hotch and Morgan where they stand on Charlotte's other side, but they just shrug unhelpfully, so she smiles in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.

"I'm sure he'll be all right," she says, and hopes Oliver won't make a liar out of her. "He was awake not too long ago."

"G-Good. He's my best friend." Charlotte breathes in as deeply as she can and lets it out shakily. "I think a couple of my ribs are broken, b-but everything else seems okay. Can you help me up?"

Emily lets Charlotte grip one of her arms and then brings the other around her back for support. Once she's sitting and has caught her breath, the women slowly work their way to standing.

Hotch steps forward. "We've been away for a while. We should get these two over where Reid and Garcia are, check on them, and then go look for Rossi and JJ." He stoops to gather the supplies and stuff them into the empty space in the first aid kit, then hands the bag to Emily. "You help Charlotte. Morgan and I will get Mr. Green this time."

* * *

By Reid's count, it takes about twenty-three minutes for Hotch and Emily to return, this time with three more people and a first aid kit. Penelope gets up to take the kit from Emily, who smiles gratefully before helping the woman she's supporting settle on the ground next to Reid.

"These are our pilots, Oliver and Charlotte," Hotch explains. He and Morgan lay Oliver out on Reid's other side and step back. "We need-"

"Oh, God, Derek!" Penelope exclaims suddenly. "What happened to your leg?"

Morgan rests a large hand over her trembling smaller ones and smiles reassuringly. "It's fine, baby girl. Not a lot of blood so I think it missed the artery."

"Oh, God!" Penelope cries again. She surges forward to envelop him in a gentle hug.

"Derek, you should let me take a look at that," Reid calls, reaching out to drag the first aid kit towards him. His forehead is beaded with sweat and his breathing slightly labored from the effort.

"Are you all right, man?" Derek asks. He pulls away from Penelope and nudges the pilot aside so he can sit next to Reid for a moment.

"Fine," Reid answers. "I broke my leg in the crash and it hurts, that's all. Move closer?"

Morgan scoots closer, bringing his thigh within reach of the other agent. "Take some pain meds from the kit."

"I will later. First we need to get this metal out before the wound gets infected. I think you're right about the artery, but it's still going to bleed a lot. Can someone get some gauze and a bandage ready?"

Penelope is closest, so she kneels and digs through the first aid kit for the requested items.

Behind her, Reid braces one hand on Morgan's thigh and uses the other to gradually pull the shard of metal from his friend's flesh. Once it's out the wound begins to bleed, but there's no arterial spray, so everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief. Reid quickly takes the proffered medical supplies and tears away the material of Morgan's jeans around the wound before dressing it. He wipes his hands clean on his own pants once he's finished.

"There," he says. "That should do for now."

"Thanks, Reid."

Reid flashes a small smile. "No problem." After a quiet moment, he speaks up again. "Has anyone seen JJ?"

Penelope, Hotch, and Emily shake their heads.

"Maybe Rossi found her," Morgan supplies. "I haven't seen him since we split up. Why?"

"Because I think it's really important that we find her. I can't be sure but I remember seeing something fly past our seats as the plane began to drop." Reid's face took on a grave appearance. "JJ was the least retrained of all of us on the couch and I'm just afraid…"

Morgan nods solemnly and uses the bark of the tree to help him stand. "I get it. Don't worry, man. We're gonna find them."

* * *

David Rossi has experienced a lot of crazy things in his lifetime, but this plane crash is a first for him. Honestly, he feels he could have gone his whole life without this particular 'first' but he can't say he's never imagined the possibility, considering the frequency with which the team utilizes air travel in their work.

He's been limping through the wreckage for several minutes now and, like his knee, he's about ready to just give up. Based on the portions of plane he's seen thus far, Rossi figures he's traveling in the general direction of the jet's tail end. He remembers that he and Morgan were closest to the back, so he isn't expecting to find much.

So far, his greatest discovery has been a battered thermos that still had some coffee in it. He thinks it belongs to Emily and he only feels a little bad for finishing it off. He can barely keep his eyes open as he walks and passing out right now isn't an option. Granted, if she didn't survive the crash, the act will probably be a source of irrational guilt for the rest of his life, but he hopes that isn't the case.

Rossi gives himself another couple of minutes in this direction, deciding he'll turn back and try to find Morgan again after that.

It's the bloody fleece blanket snagged on some of the debris that catches his eye first. His mind doesn't make the connection until he moves toward it and spots JJ's crumpled form a yard away.

Rossi's heart pounds rapidly in his chest as he rushes over and drops to her side, ignoring the flair of pain in his knee as he reaches out to check her pulse. It's there and steady as far as he can tell and the older agent releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Still, her blonde hair is streaked red with blood. He's desperate to stem the flow but he can't tell where all of it is coming from and he doesn't want to risk moving her by himself.

Rossi surges to his feet, knee pain forgotten. He needs to find the others.

**"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that**  
**something else is more important than fear."**  
**― Ambrose Redmoon**


	3. Chapter 2

I am certainly no expert on the technical aspects of airplanes, so bear with me through this first part. If you notice anything that needs correcting because it sounds absolutely ludicrous for some reason, just let me know, but I hope I've done a decent enough job here. Anyway, thank you for the reviews and follows/favorites; they're always appreciated! I'm not sure I really like how this chapter turned out and I feel like I could have done better, but I hope you all still enjoy it. It's even longer than the last one, so maybe that's some form of consolation. Thanks in advance for reading.

* * *

"**Alone, all alone  
****Nobody, but nobody  
****Can make it out here alone."  
**– **Maya Angelou**

"Has anyone checked on the transmitter in the plane?"

Hotch, Morgan, and Emily have been gone only a few minutes when Charlotte's quiet voice breaks through the silence.

"What?" Penelope asks. Her voice sounds weak and tearful and she tries ineffectively to swallow her overwhelming emotions.

Reid answers for her. "That's right! There should be a transmitter in the jet that releases a signal when we crash. If it's working, the flight tower should have received it by now and they'll be coming for us within a few hours."

Penelope nods in understanding. "The black box. Of course!"

But Reid, ever the pragmatist, can't help but tack on a less than encouraging observation. "However, if the transmitter was somehow malfunctioning… And depending on how recently the pilot relayed our coordinates to a tower…"

"They're going to have a pretty big search radius to cover before they find us," Penelope finishes sullenly.

They both turn their heads to look at Charlotte, who looks a little dejected at the hope on their faces.

"If we are so down on luck that the tower never received the transmission… They'll have to search a lot of Ohio and West Virginia."

"Well," Penelope says quietly. "Let's hope that's not the case."

"Charlotte, do you know if we'd be able to tell whether the transmitter released the signal when we crashed?" asks Reid. "I'll admit I haven't read much about the technical aspects of these devices."

Charlotte shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I-"

"There's no way to know for sure on our end," a fourth voice speaks up suddenly. The others jump and Penelope lets out a startled yelp.

"Sorry," their pilot says sheepishly.

"Oliver, you're awake!" Charlotte exclaims. She tries to move over to her friend, but decides against it when her ribs protest sharply. She settles for simply talking instead. "How are you?"

He grunts as he pushes himself up to sitting and replies, "I think I'm okay. That agent… uh… Morgan? He fixed my dislocated shoulder. That's the last thing I remember."

"Thank goodness you're all right," Charlotte sighs. The two friends smile warmly at each other.

"Well I guess since we might be stuck here for a while we should introduce ourselves, huh?" Penelope says after a moment. She points to herself and Reid in turn. "Penelope Garcia, Spencer Reid."

Charlotte gives a little awkward wave. "Charlotte Smoak."

"Oliver Green," their pilot introduces, then sighs. "I'm so sorry. I just can't believe we crashed. There wasn't a single sign of mechanical issues in the preflight check. I don't know what could have happened."

Reid clears his throat and rubs at his temples in an attempt to alleviate his headache. "There's a degradation framework for an aircraft – an equation which shows that at any age, the possibility exists that the status of an item during operation will drop below the critical level for functionality, at which point the component reaches a failure state." At their blank stares, he adds, "Basically, there's always a very small possibility for a completely unprecedented mechanical failure. Unfortunately, we've now factored into those statistics."

Everyone falls silent after that.

* * *

"Maybe we shouldn't have split up," Morgan comments, sending a scrap of debris skidding across the dirt with the toe of his boot. They have yet to locate their missing friends and worry is starting to set in.

"Do you know which direction Dave was planning to go in?" Hotch queries.

"He just said he'd start searching the rest of the wreckage."

Emily sighs. "The wreckage is scattered all over. He could be anywhere. JJ too."

"Well I think we should assume he hasn't gone anywhere in the direction we just came from or we would have seen him," Hotch says. "We'll keep searching in this area. Morgan, where are the seats you and Dave were in?"

Morgan points and leads them away from the destruction around the cockpit. "This way."

The trio approaches the toppled pair of airplane seats and glances around. There's a misshapen chunk of wing and a clanking turbine in one direction, assorted pieces of the jet's back end in another.

"All right, so he would probably head in the direction with the most wreckage," Emily states. "I don't know about you guys, but unless this was a horror movie, I wouldn't expect anyone to have been on the wing when we crashed." She gestures at the aforementioned object.

"Maybe we should call out for them," Morgan suggests. "They've gotta be close enough to hear us." He cups his hands around his mouth and starts to shout his friends' names. "Rossi! JJ! Can you hear me?!"

Emily echoes him, calling louder as they weave around the trees still standing in the crash site.

Hotch is just about to join in when a figure comes crashing through the brush to their left. He almost reaches for the gun that's no longer at his waist anyway when his brain registers that it's a harried-looking David Rossi coming towards them and not a vicious woodland predator.

"Hotch! Prentiss! Thank God," Rossi exclaims. He's breathing heavily and his limp is more pronounced than Morgan remembers, but at least the makeshift bandage on his arm seems to be holding up. "You have to follow me," he urges, taking off again through the shrubbery and debris.

The sun has risen higher in the sky now, making it easier for the agents to see where they're going, and also to see the extent of the damage done to the jet, prompting them to consider just how lucky they'd been to survive.

"Rossi, where's JJ?" Emily asks him, almost hesitantly. But she's not an idiot, she can put the pieces together, and dread starts to fill her as they stumble through the mess after their teammate while she considers the possibilities. The cut above her eye has started bleeding again and she has to reach up and scrub the blood away with her sleeve, but that's currently the least of her worries. Ahead of her, Morgan is starting to limp like Rossi and she wonders whether the man's own wound is giving him more trouble than he lets on.

Rossi doesn't answer her question. Minutes later, they're trudging past a familiar bloody blanket that's waving like a flag in the breeze, and if that's not enough to make their breath catch in their throats, the sight of a bloody Jennifer Jareau lying immobile on the forest floor certainly is.

"I didn't want to move her on my own," Rossi explains. "She's got a steady pulse and she's breathing but there's a lot of blood coming from a lot of places."

Once the initial shock has worn off, Hotch moves into action. "We should stabilize her neck and then get her back to the others and start treating her with the first aid kit there."

"Others?" Rossi echoes. "Everyone made it?"

Hotch nods. "We left Reid, Garcia, and the pilots near the cockpit. Some supplies and the first aid kit even survived the crash." He looks around as he puts a plan together in his head. "Prentiss, will you find something large and flat to stabilize her head and neck?"

"On it."

"Morgan," Hotch turns, "start tearing off strips of that blanket. We need to somehow fix her to whatever Emily finds and that's the best we've got." He kneels then and looks at JJ. "Dave," he says, less force in his voice this time, "can you help me lay her flat?"

They do it slowly, just as Emily returns with a broken off piece of board that must have come from a table or the inside of an airplane seat. It's just the right size and she slips it under JJ when Rossi carefully lifts her head and shoulders. Morgan returns a moment later with a few long strips of fleece dangling from his hand.

"God, I hope this isn't necessary," Emily mutters.

As a team they make quick work of fixing their friend in place and picking her up with as little jostling as possible. No one voices it, but they're all thinking the same thing.

* * *

The walk back is long and tiring on their injured bodies. JJ doesn't stir, but when they return, they find the pilot is awake once again and chatting with Penelope and the others. When they lay JJ back on the ground, the tech analyst lets out a strangled cry at the sight.

"Oh God, Jayje!" Penelope whispers, moving to hover over friend, hands fluttering anxiously, knees pressed uncaringly into the dirt and moss.

"You stabilized her C-spine," Reid observes.

"Just in case," explains Hotch, taking a seat on the ground. The other three join him. After a moment he reaches out and unstraps JJ's head, and Emily leans forward to brush bloody strands of hair away from the other woman's face.

"It looks like she hit her head pretty hard," Emily states. Her fingers slide lightly over a long gash at JJ's hairline. A mottled bruise outlines it. "That's where a lot of this blood is coming from."

"Head wounds are notorious bleeders," Reid mumbles, shifting closer despite the obstacle of his broken leg. JJ has no compound fractures or anything equally as horrifying that they can see, but he still worries about possible internal damage - not to mention her legs and arms are sporting a few fairly deep cuts.

"Will she be okay?" Penelope asks quietly, unsure if she really wants to hear the answer.

It comes sooner than she expects. When she reaches around Reid and grips JJ's hand, they hear a pained groan fall from the woman's lips. The whole group stares in anticipation as her eyelids flutter before opening fully to reveal the blue irises underneath.

"Jayje, can you hear me?" Emily asks, grabbing JJ's other hand in both of her own.

JJ mutters something unintelligible and then closes her eyes again.

"JJ, it's Hotch. Can you open your eyes for me?"

More indecipherable murmurs follow before she finally opens her eyes and keeps them open. She takes a few shallow breaths and then groans loud enough for them to hear, "Ouch."

"JJ, my angelfish!" exclaims Penelope. "What hurts?"

JJ licks her dry lips and responds, "My hand, Garcia."

Penelope releases JJ's hand like it's just burned her and sits back on her heels. "Oh God! Sorry! I'm sorry." Her now empty hands flit about nervously again.

Emily starts to pull back too, but JJ shakes her head a bit. "It's just my right hand," she tells her. "I think something might be broken."

"JJ, do you remember what happened?" asks Reid.

Her brow furrows as she slogs through the vague memories flashing in her throbbing head. Not much is clear, but the last thing she remembers is being surrounded by an awful screeching before she was launched off the couch and slammed bodily against the back wall of the jet. "Did we crash?"

"Yeah," Reid confirms. "Mechanical error. Something happened with one of the turbines."

JJ frowns and tries to look around, but her position makes it difficult. "Is everybody okay?"

"Everyone's fine," Hotch answers, helping to replace the stiff board under her head with one of the more comfortable rolled up blankets. "It's you we're worried about at the moment. How are you feeling?"

It's difficult to think past the pounding in her head, but JJ makes a concentrated effort to take stock of her various aches and pains. She can wiggle her toes and flex her uninjured fingers, which is a good sign, and her entire right side where she crashed into the wall feels like one giant bruise, but other than the potentially broken fingers and maybe a cracked rib or two she feels like everything is where it should be and functioning appropriately.

She tells them as much, and then tries to pacify them with a faint smile. "I think I'll live."

The group sigh of relief almost makes her laugh, but she refrains, afraid to aggravate any of her injuries.

"Okay, good. Do you want to sit up?" Emily asks after a minute.

"No, not really," comes her strained reply. "I'm not sure I can."

"What do you mean?"

"What's wrong, JJ?" Morgan asks.

JJ shakes her head, wincing. "Nothing, it's just… My side is killing me all of a sudden."

"The side you hit in the crash?" Reid wonders.

"No, my other side." She points in the general direction of her lower waist, then waves her hand dismissively. "I'll be fine, really." After all, it's probably nothing. Right?

"Well, let us take a look, at least," Emily says - it's not really phrased as a question. She silently requests permission to lift JJ's torn and blood-stained shirt, so JJ does it for her and holds the fabric out of the way as her friends examine the area.

Her flat abdomen is marred with the cuts, bruises, and abrasions they all seem to have to some extent. It's streaked with blood, too, but Reid is relieved to see no evidence of internal bleeding. Emily finally spots what she believes to be the source of the pain just above JJ's left hip. It's lodged so deeply in her torso they almost can't see it – a shard of metal roughly a millimeter thick, the only visible portion coated completely with blood. She must make a face or a noise of some sort because JJ frowns a second later and reaches down to prod the area with her fingertips.

"What is it?" JJ asks, but hisses in pain when her fingers brush over something sharp before Emily can stop them.

"Hold still, JJ," Hotch commands gently, drawing her hand away from the wound. The rest of the group sits quietly around them, nursing their own injuries as he, Reid, and Emily lean over JJ.

"It's in too deep," Reid declares after a moment. "We have to leave it in. There's no telling how big it is or what kind of damage it might have done and we can't risk her bleeding out just to check."

"Will someone just tell me what 'it' is?" JJ huffs.

Hotch meets her eyes and calmly explains, "There is something embedded in your side, a piece of metal from the plane. You're bleeding, but not much, and we don't want to make it worse by taking it out."

"It's probably best if you don't move much," Reid adds. "The same thing happened to Morgan's leg, but in his case it was easy to assess the potential damage and we were able to remove the metal. With you it's risky, because it's lodged closer to some of your vital organs."

It's JJ's turn to make a face at that.

"Do you want some painkillers?" Penelope offers weakly. "We have some in the first aid kit."

With a shake of her head, JJ closes her eyes, releasing a controlled breath. "No, it's fine. I think I'm just gonna lay here for a while." Not that she has much choice, she muses briefly. She cuts off any concerned protests by asking, "Is anyone aware that we crashed?"

"We talked about that," Charlotte speaks up then. "I'm Charlotte, by the way. Copilot to Oliver here," she jerks a thumb in his direction, an introduction for the benefit of the two new arrivals. "Assuming the transmitter in the plane released a signal when we crashed, like it was supposed to, then rescue teams should arrive soon enough."

"And if it didn't?" Rossi asks, voicing the question on most of their minds.

"Then I'm afraid it could be at least a day before they find us. Our families will realize we're missing, of course, but it's that signal that'll tell them how to find us."

At that, JJ groans again, her gaze flickering between the treetops scattered above. "God, I hate the woods."

* * *

By the time the sun has risen fully in the sky, everyone is starting to feel the aftereffects of their adrenaline rush following the crash. They had decided to remain by the trees a few yards from the downed cockpit in case a rescue copter came looking for them, but that's seeming less and less like a possibility as the hours continue to slip by, and spirits are dropping right along with their epinephrine levels. They've already divided up a few of the granola bars and shared two bottles of water, but they know they're going to have to find more of the latter if help doesn't come soon.

JJ is trying hard not to fall asleep with a concussion, but laying on the ground, however uncomfortable it may be, is not helping. Her side is throbbing where the shard of metal pierced the flesh there and she wants desperately to move around or at least sit up for a moment.

They'd all fallen into a comfortable silence about fifteen minutes earlier, leaning against trees and nearby crash debris and looking sullen and exhausted, so JJ almost hesitates to break it when she calls out, "Hey, Em?"

"Yeah?" Emily crawls on hands and knees to breach the few feet of distance between them.

"Can you help me sit up?" JJ asks, already attempting to push herself up on one shaking arm.

Emily frowns. "Jayje, are you sure you want to move? Your side… It's gotta hurt."

The corner of JJ's mouth curves upward in a sardonic half-smile. "Speaking from experience?" They hardly ever mention anything Doyle-related but it doesn't make the memories any less conspicuous in their minds, especially now that they're stranded in the woods with nothing to do but ponder one's own mortality. JJ sighs. "I just… I can't lie here any longer. I need to get up. It'll be fine," she insists.

"JJ, you really shouldn't move around unless absolutely necessary," protests Reid, grunting as he shifts his broken leg. He really should take his own advice. "The metal in your side could tear at your internal organs, if it hasn't already."

"I'll take the risk," JJ replies adamantly. She knows it's probably a stupid decision but she's going stir-crazy, so she braces her uninjured hand on Emily's shoulder and together they slowly get her upright.

Moving is more painful than expected, though she manages to suppress all but a grimace. It makes her wonder why they're all stubbornly refusing to take the pain medication still sitting untouched in the first aid kit – each of them sparing it for whoever needs it most, perhaps. It's noble, sure, but also pretty ridiculous since the unanimous sacrifice has gotten them nowhere in the suffering department. She flashes Emily a weak smile. "Thank-"

"Oliver? Oliver!" Charlotte's suddenly panicked voice cuts JJ off and they all turn to see her kneeling beside her friend, gripping his shoulders tightly. Curly black hair falls in her frightened face, but she ignores it.

Upon first glance, Oliver simply appears to the agents to be dozing. But then Charlotte shakes him a little and his head simply lolls to the side, his pale face not so much as twitching in response.

"Oliver!"

Hotch and Morgan are the closest and they hurriedly scramble over to help. Reid, too, drags himself closer, bringing the first aid kit with him.

"What happened?" Hotch asks.

"I don't know," Charlotte answers tearfully. "I was just trying to talk to him and when he didn't respond… I turned around and he was- he was like this." She chokes on a sob. "What's wrong with him?"

Reid finally makes it over then, as close as he can get with the other three crowded around. "We should lay him down flat," he tells his friends. It's times like these when Reid finds himself wishing he had gone for an MD along with his other degrees.

They slide Oliver away from the tree he's leaning against and onto the ground, and then shuffle out of the way to give Reid better access. As the rest of the group watches in silence, Reid holds his open palm above Oliver's nose, feeling for breath. They're present, but rapid and uneven, as though it's a struggle to draw them in and out.

After calling the man's name a few times to no avail, Reid moves his ear down to Oliver's chest. The angle this requires is awkward and uncomfortable with his useless leg splayed out in front of him, but that's the last thing on his mind as he listens for a sound that's barely there. He sits up quickly and tears open Oliver's shirt, sending little white buttons flying everywhere as he exposes the man's bare chest. Those that can see it suck in audible gasps at the large reddish bruise blooming beneath the skin.

"Reid, do you know what's wrong with him?" asks Hotch.

There's a pause and then, "I can't be sure. Muffled heart sounds, rapid breathing, pale skin. He's unresponsive. Coupled with the very obvious chest trauma… It could be cardiac tamponade, but that's only a guess."

"That sounds bad," Emily comments gravely.

"It is. It would mean that there's a buildup of blood or fluid in the pericardium – the sac that surrounds the heart. Without a hospital and proper treatment, his heart will stop and he'll… he'll die."

"Can't you do something to help him?" Morgan queries anxiously.

Reid shakes his head. "I can't! I'm not a medical doctor, okay? I'm not trained in the procedure. I only know what I've read." He sighs shakily. Desperation lines his features. "Regardless, we don't even have the proper equipment. There's nothing I can do."

The agents fall silent, staring hopelessly at their unconscious pilot. Only Charlotte's hushed sobs pierce the air of silence that has settled around them.

"He has a wife back home," she cries, voice muffled by the hands cupped over her face. "Chloe. They've been married ten years."

No one knows what to say to that. They're FBI agents. They aren't unfamiliar with death by any means, but in this case there's no killer to be stopped, no profile, no hunt to occupy their minds. They are powerless to prevent any of this. And that fact is positively agonizing.

In a low voice, Morgan asks, "Did I do that to him? When I popped his shoulder back in?"

Reid shakes his head in earnest. "No, Derek, it's not your fault. This happened because of the crash. We never saw it coming… And there's nothing you could've done to prevent it."

With nothing else left to do, they merely settle back into a somber silence, allowing Charlotte some space to sit with her friend – to preemptively grieve.

Six long minutes pass before his heart pumps weakly one last time, and then Captain Oliver Green dies on a stuttering breath.

"**There is a saying in Tibetan, 'Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.'** **No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that's our real disaster." **  
**― Dalai Lama XIV**


	4. Chapter 3

Sorry this took so long to get out. I did warn you that I'm an irregular updater. This isn't as long as the last two chapters but hopefully it's enough to satisfy you until I write the next chapter. Also, I apologize for any mistakes. This is going up unedited because I wanted to get it out ASAP. Enjoy and thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and favorited!

* * *

"**Life is not a PG feel-good movie. Real life often ends badly. Literature tries to document this reality, while showing us it is still possible for us to endure nobly." ****  
****― Matthew Quick, **_**The Silver Linings Playbook**_

Once Charlotte has cried herself out and dropped into a fitful sleep against the rough bark of the tree, Hotch and Morgan manage to summon enough energy to lift Oliver's body and carry it back into the cockpit. They all agree she doesn't need to see her dead friend again when she wakes up.

JJ moves to lie down again as soon as they're gone, deciding some restlessness is a small price to pay for not becoming the next casualty. It's not easy and she has to have Emily help her again, but at least she manages to avoid blacking out in the process.

"Okay," JJ groans, "I think I'll take some of those painkillers now." She turns her head to watch Reid rummage through the first aid kit. After a minute he produces the bottle and motions to toss it to Emily.

Shaking her head, JJ insists, "You should take some, too, Spence. Your leg looks bad." She glances to where he's lifted the leg of his trousers, noticing the dark bruising along his shin and the sickening lump of broken bone just beneath the skin, which thankfully hasn't broken. At his reluctant expression, she adds, "Please."

Reid nods and flashes a relenting smile before opening the bottle and pouring a few pills into his hand. He tosses the sealed container to Emily just as Hotch and Morgan return, looking drained after the exertion of moving Oliver.

"We should save the painkillers for those of us with the most severe injuries," Hotch says as JJ dry swallows a few pills. "Reid. JJ. Charlotte, when she wakes up. The rest of us should be relatively okay for now. And we don't know how long we'll be stuck out here at this point." Hotch checks his watch. "It's been about five hours since the crash." His voice drops off at the end as they all nod.

"We're gonna be okay, Aaron," Rossi says quietly. He manages to inject more confidence into his voice than he actually feels.

"What should we do?" asks Penelope. She uncaps their third bottle of water, takes a few sips, and then passes it to Morgan. She does the same with another, leaving them with only two unopened bottles.

"First off, we should find more water while it's still light out," says Rossi, gesturing loosely to the bright sun overhead. "It's just after 9 a.m. now so if we get going that should give us plenty of time to find some and get back before nightfall."

"Let's just hope there _is_ something to find," Morgan comments.

Penelope smacks his arm. "Hey," she chides. "We need to stay positive."

"Garcia's right," Hotch declares. "And so is Dave." He grips the chunk of debris he's been leaning against and hefts himself to his feet using his good arm. "Prentiss and I will go. The rest of you have leg injuries or shouldn't be walking. We'll try to be back within a few hours." Hotch stoops to gather the four empty bottles scattered on the ground next to Reid and hands two of them to Emily when she approaches.

They set off to the north into the tree line and disappear from view a few minutes later.

* * *

After roughly an hour of walking interspersed with breaks to rest against boulders or fallen trees, Hotch and Emily finally stumble onto a stream running perpendicular to their direction of travel. It's about six feet across and the water appears safe enough to drink, so they stop and drop gratefully to their knees along its edge. It's an incredibly lucky break and they take a minute to bask in their relief.

A moment later, Emily removes her plum-colored button-up blouse to reveal the white tank top underneath. At Hotch's questioning look she explains, "To help filter the water. I know it's not ideal, but it's better than nothing."

Hotch nods. "Of course."

It's an inelegant process. Emily holds the cleanest end of her shirt over an open bottle, her thumb and index finger holding it tight around the neck of the container, but allowing some slack in the material right over the opening, creating a dip into which Hotch can pour the unfiltered stream water from another bottle. Once they've finally managed to fill the three available bottles, they have to switch tactics for the fourth. Emily holds it just as she did the previous ones, but Hotch now has to scoop the water from the stream with his hands and dump it carefully over the filtered opening.

They share this last bottle to hydrate for the trek back and then refill it before gathering everything up.

"At least it's still summer," Emily says as they start walking. "We aren't going to freeze to death."

Hotch chuckles dryly. "Small miracles."

* * *

"What if nobody ever finds us?" Penelope asks weakly, attempting to break the tense silence that has settled around them.

Morgan turns his head towards her, eyebrows raised. "What happened to Ms. 'We need to stay positive,' huh?"

Penelope smiles sheepishly as Morgan rests a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, baby girl. We'll make it out of here." He raises his voice, "Right, Reid?"

"Hmm? Yeah." Reid looks up. "What?" They all smile at him. Their usual teasing laughs for such a response require just a little too much effort given the circumstances.

"You okay?" Morgan asks him after a minute.

"I'm fine," Reid answers. "Those painkillers aren't doing much for my leg. But on the bright side, I don't think my concussion is very serious."

"That's good."

Rossi speaks up then. "Remarkably, I think I managed to avoid a concussion altogether."

"Lucky you," Penelope groans. "I feel like there's a rock concert happening inside my head."

Reid tosses her the bottle of painkillers. "You should take some. We have plenty."

Penelope smiles gratefully, taking a few pills. "Thanks. But just this once. You and Jayje are way worse off." She throws the bottle back.

Reid fumbles and drops it and this time the others actually manage some real laughs as he smiles awkwardly and tucks it back into the kit.

"Nice one, Spence," JJ teases lightly. Despite the distraction provided by the team's antics, she's slowly losing her battle with unconsciousness. Whether it's due to simple sleepiness or being on the verge of passing out, JJ isn't entirely sure. She just knows that the blackness is far too inviting, and all her body wants to do is succumb. She tries valiantly to keep up the chatter with her friends, to hold on for Henry and Will because closing her eyes out here could mean never waking up again and she does _not_ want to die in the woods of all places, but the effort is ultimately futile, and during a lull in the conversation she eventually drifts off.

The others don't seem to notice, their minds fixated on other matters of concern. Though not even two hours have passed since Hotch and Emily left, they all are getting antsy waiting for the two of them to return, knowing that their odds of survival depend greatly on the outcome of their friends' search. Morgan and Rossi both need their lacerations cleaned and re-bandaged as well, but it will have to wait until they have more water, so everyone is stuck sitting restlessly while they wait for something to happen.

That 'something' comes unexpectedly when Penelope attempts to shift her body, wanting to lean her head on Morgan's shoulder, and instead lets out a startled gasp of pain when a burning sensation flares in her right leg. She reaches down to clutch at her calf through the torn purple nylon. It feels tight and swollen when she touches it and she raises panicked eyes to meet Reid's concerned gaze.

He's already dragging himself over as quickly as he can with the first aid kit but she's panicking and crying as she calls out for him, so she can barely hear his words of assurance or feel Morgan's comforting hands gripping hers. Getting shot by Jason Clark Battle was terrifying, but at least then she'd had readily available medical assistance and a short ride to a hospital. Medical emergencies out here, especially after Oliver Green's too recent death, are a whole new level of scary, Penelope realizes.

A minute passes before she vaguely registers Reid hovering in front of her, ordering her to stop panicking and breathe, so she does, sucking in a lungful of air as she squeezes Morgan's hand. And as Reid begins ripping at the nylon covering her leg, Garcia swears to herself that she'll never step foot on a plane again.

* * *

"Is Jessica watching Jack?" Emily wonders aloud as they weave through the trees on their way back to the crash site.

"Yeah," Hotch answers, suddenly feeling that much more grateful for his ex-sister-in-law's help. "And Beth was supposed to come down for a visit this weekend," he remembers, a bit crestfallen.

"Well, hey, at least after this the Bureau is sure to give us a nice long vacation," Emily jokes, elbowing his side.

A corner of Hotch's mouth turns up in a close approximation of a smile. "They'd better."

They continue walking in a comfortable silence for a while, watching out for the crash debris that would indicate they're getting close.

Eventually, they're able to discern the faint clanking of the turbine they saw earlier, and both unconsciously hasten their steps. They're tired and hungry and it's past eleven so neither can help the tiny thrill of relief they feel at seeing the major wreckage of the jet come into view.

But when they round the wreckage and approach their makeshift camp, it's all they can do not to drop the water bottles in shock at the sight that greets them – of Reid preparing to slice into Garcia's leg with an anxious expression and a gleaming scalpel.

"**Safety is largely an illusion, and panic knows this."  
**― **Rita Zoey Chin**

* * *

I know, I'm awful. But I promise to try to update faster next time. Thanks for reading!

**Note:** A reviewer mentioned painkillers and head injuries potentially being a bad mix so I just wanted to clarify that when I say 'painkillers' I'm referring to acetaminophen (i.e. Tylenol), which is okay to take for headaches (even ones caused by concussion), and I am not trying to cause the characters more medical trauma - not accidentally anyway. Sorry about the ambiguity there.


	5. Chapter 4

Note: The time period of this story respective to the show hasn't really mattered up to this point, but when I first posted this fic I said it could be taking place in early season nine before "200." In the last chapter I went with it being late summer (Emily mentions that it's "still summer"), so I'm just going to change the aforementioned time period and make it after season nine. I've also gone back to the first chapter and edited this information in the author's note. Like I said, none of this has really mattered up until this chapter, so this shouldn't really make much of a difference to you as readers, but I just wanted to let you all know for frame of reference moving forward. However, if you have any questions, feel free to send them my way.

Many thanks for the follows, favorites, and reviews. Enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

"**Don't panic, if you are alive you still have chance to fight back."  
―** **M.F. Moonzajer**

"What's wrong with my leg?" Penelope asks tearfully. Reid's staring down at the exposed skin of her lower leg with a frown, brow furrowed as he tries to make sense of what he sees.

"Reid?" Morgan prompts, trying to force the panic out of his voice.

Reid silently berates himself for moving his leg around so much because the pain is becoming far too distracting, but he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being, promising to deal with it just as soon as he has taken care of Garcia's more emergent situation.

After taking another second to gather his thoughts, he finally speaks. "It's compartment syndrome. She needs a fasciotomy right away or she could permanently lose muscle function in the limb." His head shoots up and he reaches for the first aid kit, digging through it for the plastic-sheathed scalpel he remembers seeing earlier. As an afterthought, he grabs a foil-wrapped antiseptic wipe and some gloves as well. These are far from the ideal conditions of a sanitary hospital but they'll have to do, he thinks, tearing open the wipe. He uses it to clean the front of her leg as well as he can and then tosses it aside.

"Luckily, this is a procedure I've read about. I'm really sorry, Garcia, but this is probably going to hurt," he tells her. "A lot. I have to make an incision in the fascia to relieve the pressure. It's–"

"Reid," Morgan interrupts. "Just do it."

Garcia remains uncharacteristically quiet.

As Reid tugs on gloves and prepares the scalpel, Hotch and Emily come rushing over, depositing the water bottles with the others beneath one of the trees on the way before dropping to the ground close behind them.

"What happened?" Hotch asks, tone stiff and concerned.

Reid doesn't answer. He flexes his fingers and then braces his left hand just below Garcia's knee to keep her leg still as he lowers the scalpel and begins making a long incision in the skin to the left of her shin. He continues to maneuver the blade after separating the edges of the incision, making nicks and cuts the others don't understand but hope will save their friend.

After what feels like an eternity, Reid sits back and sighs, looking up to meet the gazes of his friends. "I did it," he says, flashing an almost disbelieving smile.

Everyone releases a breath and Penelope chokes out a sob. "Good," she says quietly. "I think I'm going to pass out now." And then she does. It's almost laughable, but the air around them is too tense for that.

"I'm surprised she made it this long before passing out," Reid comments, setting aside the scalpel. "Emily, can you hand me another antiseptic wipe and some gauze? I need to pack and wrap the wound."

Emily passes him the requested items. "Anything else?"

"Is there a suture kit in there?" Reid asks as he takes care of Garcia's leg, cleaning it and applying the gauze – at least the first aid kit contained a lot of gauze.

Digging around, Emily finds the suture kit and holds it up triumphantly. "Yeah, here it is."

Reid nods. "Good, I'll need it later." He finishes up and then removes the bloody gloves, tossing them in a pile with the antiseptic wipes.

Rossi calls out from where he sits against wreckage from the jet's wing a few feet away. "Good work, kid." Hotch nods in agreement, giving Reid's shoulder a quick pat.

"Reid, what was that?" Morgan asks.

"The fasciotomy?"

"No, I mean, what was wrong with her?" he clarifies.

"Compartment syndrome," answers Reid. "Specifically, acute compartment syndrome. Usually caused by a severe injury."

"Like a piece of a jet landing on her," Emily says.

"Right. It's a painful condition that occurs when pressure within the muscles builds to dangerous levels. The pressure can decrease blood flow, which prevents nourishment and oxygen from reaching the nerve and muscle cells. In her leg, in this case."

"So now what?" comes Charlotte's voice from behind them. The sudden reminder that she's there and now awake causes a few of them jump.

Reid moves away from Penelope to lean against his tree again. He starts tugging his pant leg back up. "If we're going to be here indefinitely, we need to take better care of our injuries. I need my leg set and splinted as securely as possible, Hotch should be keeping his arm in a sling. There's also some antibiotic ointment in the bag that we should apply to our worst cuts," he lists. "If we continue as we are, we're only limiting our odds of survival."

"Yeah, Rossi and I probably need our bandages changed," Morgan agrees.

Hotch starts carefully removing his suit jacket. "Okay. Morgan, help Reid splint his leg and then he can help with your bandage." He looks to Emily and hands her the jacket, then gestures to his right shoulder. "Could you…?"

Emily nods. "Of course."

While she fashions a makeshift sling for Hotch, Reid looks over his shoulder at Charlotte and tells her, "You should try not to move, Charlotte. Depending on the severity of the breaks, your ribs could puncture one or both of your lungs. The fact that you're breathing regularly now is a good sign, but we don't want to risk it."

She smiles in understanding. "Thanks."

Grabbing the board and strips of fabric they used earlier to stabilize JJ, Morgan makes his way over to Reid. "Okay, kid, tell me how set this break without making it worse."

It's terribly painful but it's done quickly, with Reid pressing the back of his head into the bark of the tree to brace himself as Morgan cautiously sets the break. Reid's shout of pain sends a few startled birds flying from the treetops overhead.

He's sweating and his eyes are watering when it's over, but he gives Morgan a reassuring nod when he looks up, so Morgan proceeds, using the weight of his good leg to snap the board in half and then placing one half on either side of Reid's broken limb. He makes sure to brace around the knee in order to fully hinder movement and uses the strips of fabric to fix the boards firmly in place, tying them tightly.

"Good to go, kid." He claps Reid on the shoulder.

Behind them, Emily has moved from Hotch to Rossi and is using the antibiotic ointment and a bottle of water to tend to his arm.

"You found water, then?" Rossi asks her.

"Yeah, we did. A stream, about an hour's walk to the north."

"And fortunately, clean enough to drink," adds Hotch.

Emily ties off Rossi's bandage and then takes the supplies back to the kit. Reid reaches for them but she waves him off. "Just rest, Reid, you've done plenty. I'll deal with Morgan's leg."

Once she's finished with him, Morgan returns to sit by Penelope's side, keeping vigil over her unconscious form. Emily sits back and takes drink of water as she stares tiredly at the small tube of ointment she's rolling between her fingers.

After a moment, she passes the water bottle to Reid. He takes a large gulp, then gives it to Charlotte. "You should give JJ the ointment for her side and then bandage the wound. It will help stave off infection since we can't remove the metal," he tells Emily, who nods and grabs a wrapped gauze pad and some medical tape.

She snags another water bottle and crawls over to JJ's side, only just realizing she hasn't heard anything from her since she and Hotch returned with the water.

"Jayje?"

She doesn't respond.

Emily reaches out and lays a hand on JJ's shoulder, shaking it gently. "JJ, wake up."

This time JJ emits a low moan, but still doesn't stir – though she displays no signs of distress that Emily can see.

"Something wrong?" Hotch asks. He shuffles over to them. Rossi stays behind for the sake of his knee but looks on in concern.

"Well, she just moaned," Emily says, though her tone is uncertain. "I think she's just sleeping. God knows we could all use some rest." She lifts the end of JJ's shirt and then uncaps the antibiotic ointment. "I'll just take care of this while she's out."

She carefully rinses the wound with water and pats the area dry using an edge of JJ's shirt. Hotch opens the gauze pad for her as she applies the cream and then holds it in place when she's ready to tape it down.

JJ moans again at the pressure, her head tilting to the side as though searching for the source of the disturbance. "Wha-" she murmurs hoarsely. Her eyes open into slits, but the brightness of the sun only exacerbates her headache so she promptly closes them.

"JJ? How are you feeling?" Emily asks.

"Em?"

"Yeah, it's me. And Hotch."

Hotch uncaps the water bottle. "JJ, do you still remember what happened?"

"Crash?" JJ mumbles. She reaches her good hand up slowly and brushes her fingers over the wound on her head.

"Good," Hotch says, relieved that she seems to be retaining her mental faculties.

Emily lightly bats JJ's hand away. "Here, let me put some ointment on that." As she does, she asks again, "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible," JJ groans.

Emily caps the ointment and helps her raise her head so she can drink some of the water Hotch is holding out for her.

"Thanks," JJ whispers, pulling away and dropping her head back onto the blanket. "What did I miss?"

"Hotch and I found a stream about a mile from here," Emily answers. She hesitates before adding, "And something happened with Garcia's leg. Uh… compartment syndrome. But Reid took care of it and she's going to be okay."

JJ frowns in worry and opens her eyes fully. "What?"

Smiling reassuringly, Emily repeats, "She's okay."

"Good. That's good," JJ murmurs, eyelids drooping. "Can I sleep now?"

Hotch and Emily chuckle.

"Yeah," Emily says. "Go ahead."

She and Hotch draw back, giving her space. Hotch returns to sit against the wing with Rossi and Emily goes to sit beside Morgan and Penelope.

"She okay?" Morgan asks, nodding his head toward JJ.

Emily smiles languidly. "She's fine." She's ready to lie down and take a nap herself, but her stomach chooses that moment to let loose a noisy rumble.

Smirking, Morgan leans over and grabs a granola bar from the box. "Share?" he asks, waving it between them. He doesn't wait for a response. He tears open the package and pulls out one of the two Nature Valley oat bars inside, then proffers it to Emily.

She takes it, smiling in thanks as she begins munching on it slowly.

Morgan grabs two more packages from the box and tosses one to Reid and Charlotte and the other to Hotch and Rossi before biting into his own bar.

They finish eating quickly. The bars are small and not very filling, but it's enough to satisfy them for now. Emily settles down beside Penelope with the other rolled-up blanket tucked under her head and Reid and Rossi soon doze off sitting up.

Several hours have passed now since the crash, but to their sore and exhausted bodies it feels impossibly longer. The day is halfway gone now and they're finding it harder and harder to maintain the same level of positivity. None of them is sure what will happen if they're still there when night falls, but the team continues to cling to hope, because it's one of the only things they're still able to do.

* * *

**FBI Headquarters, Quantico, Virginia**  
**Friday, 11:36 a.m.**

Section Chief Mateo Cruz sits quietly in his closed office, perusing a report from Grant Anderson on a case the agent had recently been involved in. He's reaching for a pen to sign off on it when his phone rings, piercing the peaceful atmosphere in the room. Cruz breathes a sigh and picks it up. He doesn't bother to check the caller ID.

"Cruz," he speaks into the receiver.

"_Agent Cruz?_" a familiar accented voice asks. "_This is Will LaMontagne. JJ's husband_," Will adds unnecessarily.

Cruz straightens, curious. "Yes. What can I do for you, Detective?"

"_I was just wonderin' if you knew when their flight was supposed to get back? I got a text from JJ around 2 a.m. sayin' they were finishin' up and headin' home as soon as possible, but I haven't heard from her since and now I'm startin' to get worried. The flight from Ohio isn't very long._"

"Right. I got a similar message from Agent Hotchner last night." Cruz frowns. "I'd assumed they had already arrived and gone home by now," he says, flipping through some of the files on his desk. "I don't have any of the case reports here, but it was so late, I figured they would simply turn them in on Monday. I didn't think anything of it…" he trails off. After a pause he asks, "You haven't heard from her since 2 a.m.?"

"_Nothin'. I tried calling a couple times but she doesn't pick up._"

Still frowning, Cruz leans forward and searches his desk for the file on the case Hotch's team had been working. "All right. Let me make some calls, but don't worry. They were dealing with two separate police departments so they probably just got held up with paperwork or something in an area with bad cell service. I'm sure it's nothing, but I'll check up on it and get back to you."

"_Thank you, Agent Cruz_," Will says. "_I'll let you know if I hear from JJ._"

They say their goodbyes and then Cruz hangs up, dragging the case file towards him and opening it to the first page. He quickly locates the information for the Ohio sheriff who called in to request help and dials the phone number listed beneath his name. It rings twice before someone picks up.

"_Sheriff Richards_," a man's voice answers.

"Sheriff Richards, this is BAU Section Chief Mateo Cruz of the FBI," Cruz announces. "Do you have a moment?"

"_Of course, sir. Your people were a great help here this past week and we're all quite grateful. What can I do for you?_"

"Were?" Cruz echoes. "So they aren't there anymore?"

"_No, sir. They left late last night. Or, I suppose, early this morning, if you want to be technical about it_," the sheriff answers. "_Wrapped things up here and with the boys in Indiana and then took off on that fancy jet of yours around 3 a.m. or so. Why? There a problem?_"

"Are you sure the jet took off, Sheriff?" Cruz asks, worry and confusion vying for dominance in his tone.

"_Absolutely. I saw them off myself_," says Richards. "_Like, I said, we were very grateful._"

"Okay, Sheriff Richards. Thanks for your time." He hangs up without bothering to explain and immediately dials another number. This time he waits five rings before the call goes to voicemail.

"_You've reached SSA Aaron Hotchner. I'm unable to take your call right now, but if you leave your name and number I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you._"

After trying three more team members with the same results, Cruz dials the airport used by the FBI jets and waits for someone to answer, tapping his fingers impatiently on the surface of his desk. Finally, there's a click and the voice of a young woman answers. Before she can even finish her greeting, Cruz starts to speak.

"This is FBI Agent Cruz. I need to know the details of a flight that was scheduled to land sometime early this morning," he says authoritatively.

"_Oh, um- Okay_," the woman stammers, surprised by the urgency in his tone. "_Let me direct your call to-_"

"Just hurry, please." He feels bad for interrupting again because she's clearly already flustered, but if Will and Sheriff Richards are right, his agents have been missing for over eight hours now and he needs answers as fast as he can get them.

A beep sounds in his ear and then a male voice greets him. "_Hello, Agent Cruz, my name is Peter Vaughan. Laurel says you need information about a flight that came in this morning. Do you have the details?_"

Cruz lists off the pertinent flight information and waits as the man on the other end checks the records database.

"_I'm sorry, sir, but there are no recent arrivals matching those specification. Are you sure the information is accurate?_"

Cruz feels his heart rate pick up. "I'm positive. Check again," he orders.

"_But-_"

"Check again."

Another minute passes and then, "_I really can't find anything, sir. That flight never came through here. Would you like me to check with other airports nearby?_"

Cruz sighs. "Yes, please do that. And stay on the line. I need to make another call."

The airport that the team went through in Ohio ends up being no more helpful than the local one. Nobody seems to have the slightest clue where a large jet carrying seven federal agents might have gone and Cruz is now having a hard time ignoring the most probable reason for this.

When he gets back on the line with the local airport, Peter Vaughan immediately apologizes, telling him he still can't locate the jet.

Massaging his temple as he expels a weary sigh, Cruz says, "Peter, I think you need to direct me to the person who handles plane crashes."

**"Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all."  
****― Emily Dickinson**

* * *

Okay so I took some creative license here because I didn't want to get too technical with the fasciotomy since I figure most of you don't know much about medicine past the basics and it would have just gotten boring and hard to pronounce, but rest assured, Reid knew what he was doing in the beginning of the chapter and was not just randomly hacking away at Garcia's leg and hoping for the best. I am also probably taking creative license with the fact that nobody knows the plane went down (a la Grey's Anatomy Season 8 finale or the recent incident with the missing Malaysia Airlines flight) for dramatic purposes so a suspension of disbelief may be necessary for some readers, just as with a lot of the shows/fics/books/etc that we consume. Thanks for reading!


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